A block down the street, my apartment mates and I looked beyond the pickup basketball court, our eyes drawn instead to a grassy field in which we imagined a playground of dirt. After putting in the hours in the sandy soil, we now pop manuals on our snaking pumptrack; looking over at those guys in their old high school jerseys lobbing airballs, thinking we’re having a lot more fun.
During the week, the formerly dreaded 8 a.m. classes now just mean we’ll catch the sunrise above the ocean on our morning spin, and if we have class all day we know we’d better leave the house with our headlights plugged in. Unlike many of the apartments around us, our walls aren’t covered in pin-ups or American flags, and there are no beer pong tables or red solo cups strewn in the yard. Instead, our self-proclaimed “Shred Shed” gives sanctuary to a spirit of adventure we all relish. The constant discussions of race results and bike parts are always entertaining, but the best part is, whenever it’s time for a study break, there’s always a riding partner coming through the front door.